And What Will Poor Robin Do Then?
by Drag0nst0rm
Summary: In another reality, things are different. Bruce Wayne is prince of the city-state of Gotham, the Joker is a quasi-immortal being fueled by the taint, and the question of who will carry on Bruce's civilian identity is far more charged then who will take up the Bat. One thing, however, remains the same: Sooner or later, every Robin doubts his place at the Bat's side.


**A/N: I don't own Batman. Title from "The North Wind Doth Blow."**

 **This is not the dragon AU. I am working on that, though I ran into unexpected writer's block that I'm just now getting around. Hopefully, that'll be up soon.**

* * *

The city was quiet tonight. There were no fires blazing out of control. No vicious rips in reality bleeding out their startlingly green taint. Just the guards' torches dancing merrily as they patrolled the streets below and the faintly luminescent glow of the night mists that always lingered for a few nights after the taint had been strong.

And it had been strong, Dick thought bitterly from his perch on the roof. It had been allowed to grow far stronger than it should have because they hadn't been able to stop it.

Because he was too _old_ to stop it. Seventeen, still a few months away from being a man, and he was still too old, and Bruce wasn't doing either of them any favors by refusing to admit it.

There was a soft thump as the Bat joined him on the roof. The sound was a courtesy, Dick knew. Normally, people never heard a thing.

"Robin." The word was in his usual growl, but Dick was adept at the language of bats. He heard the concern in it.

"I found a little girl bleeding out on patrol tonight," he said, voice deceptively casual. "Street kid. She's got some skills, though, she'd managed to make herself a spell circle to hide in to keep all the things that go 'boo' away." There were far too many of those that were attracted to blood. "I tried to cross it to help her, of course. And you know what happened? I bounced right off." There would have been a time when he could have slid right in.

But that had been he was a kid too. Most magic let kids slip right through.

These days, though, there was very little magic that still considered him a child.

"I had to talk her into crossing the barrier. It almost didn't work. She's smart enough to know not to leave your safe spot just because someone who _looks_ like Robin asks you to."

Bruce crossed the roof and sat down beside him. "Is she alright?"

He shrugged. "She will be. Like I said. I talked her into it." He ran a hand through his hair. "Next time it might not work."

There were too many monsters that slipped out through the rips that hunted exclusively on children. There were too many creatures twisted by the taint that went after the smallest target first. There was too much magic that only children could use or slip through.

There was a reason that the Bat who defended Gotham had agreed to take on a tiny Robin, and that reason was that if he wanted to defend his city, he didn't have a choice.

Dick said what he was sure they'd both been thinking for two years now. "You need a new Robin."

"No."

"B - " Not Bruce, never Bruce, not on patrol, not when names had far too much power to risk. "I'm seventeen. I'm training to be in the city guard. I'll be a full member in a couple of months."

"You don't have to be," Bruce interrupted to point out.

Dick rolled his eyes. Bruce's willingness to make him his heir was, well, kind of sweet, actually, but they both knew better. The nobility might tolerate the prince of their city taking in an orphaned traveling performer as a ward, but an heir was a whole different story. "Not the point, B. You asked me if I wanted you to talk to Commander Gordon about setting up an official courtship with his daughter, for crying out loud! I'm not a kid anymore. You need someone younger out here to do the things you can't."

Bruce set his jaw. "I managed just fine before."

Dick sighed. "We both know it took us too long to take out this week's beastie. A couple of years ago we'd have bagged it in a night because I could have heard the piper's music it was using to lure kids in. Now that's not an option."

He wasn't surprised Bruce wasn't exactly jumping on the idea. The man was so convinced it was his job to protect his people from the monsters in the night that he hadn't just built a better city guard as prince, he'd turned himself into a figure of myth and gone out into the misty nights to fight them. Letting a kid do some of his dirty work for him killed him a little inside, Dick knew, but it was the only way to protect the other children in Gotham, and so Dick had eventually managed to talk him into it.

But it hurt him. And it was a hurt born of caring, little as Bruce might have wanted to admit it, so Dick went easy on him and gentled his voice. "The taint's getting worse." They weren't as close to the center of it as some city states on the Spiral, but they were close enough to bleed, as the saying went. "We can't do this half-blind and blocked from helping everyone we need to help."

Bruce's shoulders slumped a little in defeat. "I'll . . . look for opportunities."

Dick grinned. "That's all I ask." He got up and stretched. He'd have to give up the name. It was important that their identities seem as mythical as the beings they hunted. Unaging. Unkillable. "Guess I'll have to think of a new alias. What do you think? Redbird? Nightwing?" He kind of liked Nightwing. He'd heard stories about the old hero when the caravan had travelled through the area where Krypton used to stand when he was a kid.

But Bruce seemed surprised, and now the knot of lurking dread that Dick had been carefully not thinking about, that had kept him from bringing this up before, was suddenly a lot heavier in his stomach.

"You . . . do still want me as your partner, right?"

Bruce stood back up and gripped his shoulder. "Always."

* * *

Three months later, when Bruce decided to take his advice by offering a street kid who'd almost stolen his horse the choice between being given a place in an orphanage or becoming Robin, Dick kind of wanted to bang his head against a wall, but. Well. At least a street kid would know what he was getting into on the monster hunting side of things.

The court side of things, not so much, but what were older brothers for?

* * *

The river rushed beneath the bridge they were facing off on, dark and swift and smelling faintly of dead things. The wood was slick beneath his feet, but it wasn't quite cold enough to turn to ice yet. There were worse places for a standoff.

He'd been chasing the source of the killings for three weeks. This moment should have been a triumph, with the killer's mask ripped off, and Bruce finally close enough to end this.

Except the mask had been ripped off, and Bruce knew better, he _knew_ it had to be a shapeshifter or some other kind of trick, but so many pieces were clicking into place, from the door of the catacombs that had been broken from the inside to the way Jason's old haunts had been buzzing with whispers.

 _Jason?_

He wanted to say it so badly it hurt, but names were dangerous in the night, so what spilled out in a longing whisper was, _"Robin?"_

Jason laughed, a wild and breaking sound. "Not anymore, old man. Pretty sure Robin can't afford to be touched by the taint."

And - oh. He should have seen. Should have noticed. Would have, if it had been anyone else.

Jason's eyes were the same maddened green that spilled out of the rips in the world. A streak of his hair had gone white from the strain of the magic.

"Your old necromancer girlfriend from the center of the Spiral says hello, by the way."

Talia.

"I'm pretty sure she wanted me to be some kind of peace offering, but I don't think she really _gets_ how you feel about the taint. Or killing, for that matter."

The killings. Bruce's mind felt frozen, barely functional, still stuck on the fact that Jason was _here_ , that he was _alive_ , that he wasn't still the battered boy that the Joker had dared to kill.

And now Jason was killing. It was the line Bruce never crossed in the night because at least as prince he was held to some level of accountability for those he executed. It was far too easy on the streets to let his passions rule instead of justice. It was a line he had never let the children cross for obvious reasons.

But Jason was tainted, and Jason had crossed it, and - "Why?"

Jason shrugged tightly, his whole body jittery. On edge. With the rest of him always moving, it was almost possible to ignore the way he only took a breath when he wanted to speak. "Well, I shouldn't be alive, should I, old man? Talia called me up with a dead man's curse, so _officially_ I'm here to get revenge on my murderer. I live while he lives, but if I want to keep my sanity, I've got to pay the price in blood. I've been careful to only pick out _worthy_ victims, but I know you too well to think that'll matter, don't worry." His mouth twisted bitterly. "Of course, since the dear old Joker's so deep in the taint even you can't figure out how to kill him, I guess I'll be sticking around for a while."

He said the last words almost defiantly, like he expected Bruce to be _upset,_ and when Bruce said nothing, still desperately trying to absorb what was going on, he finally exploded.

"Say something already! Call me a monster! Tell me to get out of your city! Tell me all about that new, better Robin you replaced me with! Just stop _looking_ at me like that, alright?"

Bruce took two steps forward and pulled Jason into a hug. "You're home," he breathed.

Jason was stiff and startled in his arms. "I'm _tainted."_

It made him a hypocrite, he knew that, he did, but if anyone could fight this it was Jason, and - "You're _alive."_

"Yeah," Jason breathed. He leaned into the embrace, just a little. "Guess so. Just not quite who I was."

"Who are you then?"

He could feel the nervous tension in Jason's body at the question. "I did tell you I only killed people who deserved it. And. Well. You know how this sort of thing works."

He knew all too well how the city's underbelly worked. Those with the taint tended to draw together into a sort of court, and advancement all too often came with murder. The Red Court, one of his ancestors had dubbed it, and the tainted had embraced it. It was vicious and brutal, but it kept a certain amount of control over its members, so Bruce gave it a certain amount of leeway.

Jason flinched just a little and confessed. "I'm sort of the Red King."

And Bruce couldn't help it. He laughed.

Of course he was. Of course he would.

Jason finally relaxed and tentatively returned Bruce's embrace. "I know I can't come home. Not like this. But . . . "

And Bruce wished he could argue with that, but the taint was one thing even he couldn't overcome.

Jason pushed onward. "But for as long as I can keep this thing under control - if I can keep the killings to the stuff we used to hunt, then - "

Bruce finally let go so he could look Jason in the eyes as he made his promise. "I've worked with Red Kings before. I would be honored to do so again."

* * *

Tim had, at the age of nine, figured out that Prince Bruce of the House of Wayne was also the Bat that stalked the streets of Gotham. He had, at the age of ten, figured out how to predict with reasonable success which streets he would patrol on any given night. At thirteen, he had figured out how to convince the Bat to take him on as Robin.

He was good at figuring things out.

Yet somehow, in all that time, he'd never figured out just what his parents were doing on all those trips out of the city.

Business trips, they'd said. The Drakes were new nobility, still closely tied to their merchant business.

And it had been business. Of a sort.

Traitors. Traitors to a city deeper in the Spiral than Gotham, which meant they might well be traitors on behalf of the taint too.

Tim stood at the edge of the prince's fortress's roof and tried to convince himself jumping was not an acceptable option.

"Robin." Jason faded out of the shadows in the roof. Even with the blood streaming down his face, blood from an attack _his parents_ were responsible for, Jason's voice was a lot friendlier than it had been the first time they had met. In defiance of Tim's expectations, Jason had seemed to like him more after realizing Tim wasn't another street kid sucked into the war.

"Red King." He could jump. He could. If Jason had circled back here after the fight, that meant he and Bruce were on good enough terms at the moment that Jason would pass on what needed to be known. It could be over, nice and quick -

Jason's hand grabbed his shoulder. Gently, by Jason's standards. "We don't have to tell him," he pointed out carefully.

Tim laughed. The sound made him feel sick. "I'm no traitor. I won't keep this from him." He knew his duty. He knew his place.

And that meant he knew he couldn't jump.

Jason nodded, and Tim wasn't sure if it had been a trap or a genuine offer. His next words, at least, sounded genuine, as impossible as they were for him to fulfill.

"If he ends up kicking you out of the Robin spot, we can always use someone with your brains in the Court."

Did Jason really not know? But then, this hadn't happened in Tim's lifetime, or at least never got so far as a trial. And Jason hadn't been raised in a noble house. He had a different set of nightmares pounded into him.

"He won't kick me out."

"Got a lot of faith in B, don't you?"

"He'll execute me."

Jason jerked back. "He'll what now?"

"If a member of the nobility is found guilty of treason, their entire family is sentenced to death by torture so that full knowledge of their conspiracy can be revealed. Exceptions are made for any member of the family who report the conspiracy before it's uncovered by the authorities."

"Well, that's you, isn't it?"

"The Drake heir isn't reporting it, though, is he? Robin is. And my parents know it was Robin that found it out because it was Robin who helped take them down not twenty minutes ago!"

If he got off, they might make the connection. If they spoke of it, Bruce's secret would be one step closer to being revealed.

They couldn't take the risk.

So Tim would have to die.

Jason was staring at him. "I've got the taint, and even I think that's messed up."

Tim shrugged. "It's an old law." It was rarely used in modern days. With the taint spreading, most people were too afraid to leave the relative safety of the walls for the dangers of the road, or the safety of their houses during the night. That didn't eliminate the opportunities for treason, but it did somewhat limit them.

"Okay," Jason said. "Okay. Look, I've got - other stuff to take care of. Just . . . don't do anything stupid, alright?"

"I'm not going to run." He owed Bruce too much for that.

"Not what I meant, baby bird, but good to know." Then Jason was gone, faster than any human could be. That probably wasn't a good sign so far as his fight against the taint went, but Tim didn't have much energy to spare for Jason's problems at the moment.

He looked back at the edge of the roof. One way or another, he'd have to get down.

Tim swung himself over the edge.

He let his feet land on a window ledge and then, very carefully, began to climb down to the window that would let him slip inside.

* * *

The fortress was riddled with secret passages. Tim wasn't arrogant enough to think he knew them all, but he knew more than enough to get down to the cavern that only the prince's closest allies knew of.

If Bruce had stuck to his schedule, he would be waiting there already.

Sure enough, the prince was bent over a letter that was probably evidence of something, the flickering torches providing just enough light to see by.

Last chance.

Tim stepped forward and then silently sank to one knee. "My lord."

Bruce turned, frowning a little at the address. He had requested Tim avoid it during their nighttime activities, including their time in the cavern, and for the most part Tim had respected that.

The frown deepened when he saw Tim's position. "Robin? What's happened?"

Tim took a deep breath. He wished it hadn't shook as much as it did. "It is my duty to inform you that the Red King and I apprehended the traitors responsible for the recent trouble and left them with trustworthy members of the city guard, Nightwing among them."

Bruce was too intelligent not to at least suspect at this point, but he asked anyway. "And?"

"And I regret - " The words were too quiet. Barely audible. Suddenly he stopped thinking about what this would mean for him and let it really hit him what this would mean for his _parents._

But what he owed them was a pale fragment of what he owed not just to the prince of his city, but to _Bruce_ , so he gulped in more air and continued, "I regret to inform you that you were betrayed by Lord and L-Lady Drake."

Two months ago, his mother had taken some time out of her busy schedule to come check on his progress under his tutors. She had seen the drawings he was so proud of and had given one of her small smiles and said he had his grandmother's talent.

Two weeks ago, his father had sat down from him and talked very seriously about how in a few short years he would be able to start considering marriage and how it would be good to start thinking through his options now. In Gotham society, they were limited, of course, and he would need to marry for the good of the family, but - and there his father had paused but had continued - but Tim's input was important, because as far as it was possible, they wanted him to be happy.

And then they had left again, and it didn't _matter_ how often they had left him alone, it didn't matter that sometimes he felt like he barely knew them, it didn't matter whether they had been good parents or bad or indifferent, what _mattered_ was that thanks to them, a green skinned woman who the plants all reached for had nearly been freed from her prison in the taint.

What mattered was the fact that he still had his mother's blood on his gloves -

No. That didn't matter. That didn't matter, and the visions he had of the short scream his mother had given turning into a longer one, one that went on and on and led to her death didn't matter, what mattered was his oath of allegiance and the law of the land. What mattered was keeping the taint contained.

What mattered was the man who had given him a chance and who had trained Tim himself, who had given him words of hard won praise, and who worked so _hard_ to protect a city that could never be truly safe.

"Tim." Bruce was right in front of him now, touching his shoulder, and Tim flinched back, because he hadn't seen him there. He hadn't even seen him move.

"I didn't know," Tim told him, because it had to be said. "I know what you have to do, and I'm not asking you to change that, I just - I need you to know. I never would have betrayed you. _Never._ "

Bruce had to know that. He could handle the rest, or at least could pretend he could for long enough to go through with it, as long as Bruce knew Tim's failures had been born of blindness, not disloyalty.

Bruce's eyes were filled with more pain then Tim had seen since Jason had been dead.

He had cared. Tim had meant something.

Had his parents thought of him at all while they were making their plans? Had they thought of what would happen if they were caught?

"I'm so sorry." The hand was tight on his shoulder now, and it took all Tim had not to lean into its comfort.

He was running out of touches that wouldn't hurt.

He wanted to stay like this for as long as it would be allowed, but he knew he couldn't. Nightwing could only delay the guard so long. Soon, they would be coming to arrest Tim. He needed to be where they expected him to be.

"I should change." The words came out a bit too quiet again. His throat was as dry as the bones in the catacombs. "The guards will be at the house soon."

Bruce's hand tightened reflexively to bruising strength. "You turned it in," he said instantly. "You did your duty. More than I ever wanted to have to ask of you."

"They know it was Robin - "

"Then we'll say you tipped off Robin!"

It was tempting. So tempting. But - "And when people start to wonder how Tim Drake managed to come into contact with Robin?"

"Then we'll think of something," Bruce growled. "There are a hundred stories we could tell, and we'll use them all if we have to. I will _not_ \- I will _never_ \- " He took a deep breath. "I don't need anyone to tell me that you weren't a part of this, Tim. I know that." Then he was helping Tim to his feet, and Tim was too numb to do anything but go along with it. "We'll go upstairs to the library. When the guard comes to report what's happened, I'll tell our version of the story. We'll say you were waiting with me for word of how the arrest went."

It was a perfectly logical plan. And the library would be warm which he suddenly realized he desperately needed because he was shaking like he hadn't since the tainted blizzard Gotham had suffered through that summer.

Then he felt his breath hitch, and he realized he wasn't just cold, he was crying, which was wrong - His parents were traitors, they would deserve whatever they got, but they were _his,_ and he would not be suffering with them, he had gotten off scot-free, and there was nothing else he could have done, but _what had he done -_

"Tim."

He had never heard the prince of the city sound so helpless before.

Then Bruce's arms were wrapped lightly around him, so tentative that it would take nothing to shrug them away, but that was the last thing he wanted to do.

Instead, he clung to Bruce, just for a moment, and Bruce's arms tightened protectively around him.

* * *

There was a fire roaring in the fireplace in the library. Bruce had considered making it himself, but in the end, he had called a servant to do it, so that he could get something for Tim to drink while they waited.

It had seemed impossible that Tim would fall asleep even with the warm drink in him, but the boy had to be exhausted, and to all appearances, he was now dozing fitfully in one of the chairs.

Bruce wanted to run a hand through his hair. He wanted to promise him it would be alright.

But it wouldn't be alright, and though he had accepted it earlier, Bruce doubted Tim would want his comfort now.

Not when Bruce was going to have to kill his parents.

He couldn't see a way around it. He could change that old, barbaric law, maybe, the one that had threatened to force him into the unthinkable, but for the sake of order in the city, he couldn't allow traitors to live.

Bruce remembered all too well how he'd felt towards the assassin that had killed his own parents.

Tim was going to hate him.

"My lord." The words weren't as wry as they usually were.

Bruce turned around. "Dick." He was still in his guard uniform. He must have had the night watch. Tim had mentioned that he had been involved in the arrest. "Official news?"

Dick's mouth twisted as he nodded in agreement and walked closer. "I think they hoped you'd take bad news better coming from me."

"Bad news?" Bruce was careful to keep his voice hushed for Tim's sake, but that didn't stop the violent swell of confused emotion in his chest. "They escaped?"

Dick winced. "Not . . . exactly." He flopped into the remaining chair, exhaustion written on every line of his face. "Unmarked fighters attacked. We thought they were there to rescue their co-conspirators." He shook his head.

"They killed them," Bruce realized.

Dick nodded wearily. "Presumably, they were mopping up loose ends."

Bruce's eyes narrowed. "Presumably? You didn't catch any of them?"

"They were good," Dick said. "I was the only guard left conscious. Lord Drake was bleeding out. I had to choose whether to try and save him or to go after the fighters." He looked down at his hands. There were still specks of blood on them. "He died anyway. I guess I made the wrong call."

"No. You did the right thing." The rest of Dick's statement fully hit him. "Unconscious," he said slowly. "They left the rest of the guard unconscious. Not dead."

"Yeah," Dick said quietly. "I thought that part was interesting too."

"Did you . . . recognize any of them?" Bruce asked carefully.

Dick shook his head. "They were all pretty short. That's all I can give you."

Bruce's suspicions were only partially allayed. He glanced out the window. He had a little more time before dawn crept above the mists. "Stay here with Tim. There's something I need to clarify before the vultures start circling."

Dick nodded. "If Tim wakes up . . . ?"

"Use your best judgement."

Dick nodded again. Then he said, "I was the one leading the patrol. I was the only one who knew the full story. The others didn't know much, and I trust them to keep their mouths shut about the rest."

In other words, the Drakes were dead and beyond punishment. The story of why they died was up to Bruce. If he didn't want treason connected to the Drake name . . .

"Noted."

And then he was gone.

* * *

The Red King's court was deep in the tunnels that burrowed under the city. Bruce didn't really belong in it, not even dressed as the Bat, and the Court's denizens made way for him, some fearful, some calculating.

An ancient throne of bleached bones threaded with green light dominated the center of the room. Tonight, Jason wasn't on it.

He was lurking in the shadows of the cavernous room, a fact that Bruce was pretty sure none of his courtiers had yet picked up on.

Bruce slid into the shadows as well as he did. Jason was tense beside him, throwing and catching a knife with one hand.

"If you're here to look for a new Robin, you and I are going to have words, old man."

"No."

"No, you're not here to look, or no, you don't need a new one?"

"The latter." Bruce hesitated. "Unless he wants out."

Jason laughed. "Yeah, right. Like his sense of duty would let him."

"He might want time off," Bruce suggested with a mildness he didn't feel. "So that he could, for instance, find out who killed Lord and Lady Drake."

"They dead already?" Jason's tone was casual.

And entirely unsurprised.

Bruce gave him a hard look.

Jason put a hand to his heart with a look of shocked offense. "Me? You suspect little old me?"

"The attackers were short." Jason was categorically not. He might have a half-inch on Bruce now. "But I notice your full court isn't here tonight."

"The full court's never here," Jason said dismissively. "And if some of the stragglers were indeed involved in that deeply tragic attack, I will be shocked, dismayed, and entirely happy to help Robin get justice. If he wants it, of course. Personally, I might be a bit relieved that there wasn't a noose around my neck anymore, but that's just me."

Given that Jason had died trying to save his traitorous birth mother, Bruce rather doubted that, but the point stood.

"Robin was never in any danger." It was important that Jason know that.

"That's not what he thought."

He stepped closer, so as to be sure that only Jason could hear him. "No Robin, past, present, or future, will ever be in danger of that. Not from me."

And Jason, Jason who danced so close to the edge these days, Jason whose eyes glowed green with the taint, thought for a moment and then relaxed just the tiniest bit. "Not of that," he agreed. "You might take one of them down someday, but you wouldn't draw it out."

And that - That Bruce didn't know. He didn't know, if Jason lost too much of himself, if he went too far, if he could take him down.

But it hadn't come to that, not yet, so Bruce turned to go.

"Bats," Jason called, probably trusting the noise in the cavern to hide his voice from the others. "You gonna tell him?" His voice had the slightest hint of uncertainty in it.

Jason was defensive around Bruce and Dick. Bruce thought he was afraid they were judging him, comparing him to his pretaint self.

. . . It could be hard not to.

But Tim, Tim had few expectations. Sometimes Bruce thought whatever bond Tim and Jason had was the steadiest Jason had in his life.

Tim might figure it out on his own. Bruce didn't know how he would feel if he did.

But for the moment, he had no proof. And for the moment -

"What is there to tell?"

* * *

When the prince of Gotham took in _another_ ward, even the Red Court heard of it.

"Legal heir, huh." Jason didn't usually venture into Bruce's little hidey hole, but for this he'd make an exception.

"Jason - "

Jason waved a hand. "Makes sense. They'll accept a blue blood the way they never would have accepted us. And you're not getting any younger, old man. You should have had an heir years ago."

Jason had always kind of wondered about that, actually. He wasn't surprised that Bruce wasn't willing to take much time for romance, but to neglect his duty to produce an heir, and maybe an alliance while he was at it, wasn't like him.

"I was . . . afraid," Bruce finally admitted.

Jason's eyebrows rose. He hadn't been expecting that. "Afraid of _what?_ That she'd find out your little secret? Surely you could have figured _something_ out."

"There were . . . rumors. About why I took Dick in. About why I took you in."

There had been a lot of rumors, some of them nastier than others. Jason was pretty sure he knew which one Bruce was referring to, though. The one that suggested maybe there was a reason he and Dick could pass for brothers.

"She couldn't be mad about something that happened before you even thought about marrying her."

"No. But she might feel threatened by it."

And - Okay. Jason got it now. A couple of presumed illegitimate kids on the one hand, a legitimate heir on the other - depending on how charisma and capability played out, there was fuel for a succession war there. Bruce maybe should have thought this adoption thing through a bit more.

"You know those rumors are going to be worse about Tim, right? Seeing as you declared him your heir, and they can actually prove you knew his mom and all."

"At this stage, I'm not too worried about Janet Drake's reputation," Bruce said. There was too much anger there for it to be as wry as it might have been otherwise.

Jason got that. The Drakes had gotten off lightly, all things considered. The official story was that they had been killed by the taint on a business trip and been consumed by bone-eaters who tried to assume their identities. Fortunately, their son had revealed the deception and helped save the city.

It had saved Tim some grief, but from the sound of it, Bruce was kind of bitter about it. Possibly because of the whole _treason_ thing, but more likely because of Tim. Bruce's inability to protect them as well as he would like only made him more judgmental of those who didn't protect their children to the very best of their ability.

Jason shrugged. "Your call." He hesitated. "I haven't seen the little bird out in a while. How is he?"

"He'll be alright," Bruce said firmly.

"Or close enough to pass for it in a bad light," Jason said wryly. "That's all the rest of us manage. He figured it out?"

"I told him I had taken care of it."

Jason whistled. "Little bird's awfully trusting, but that's not my problem." Which meant he was out of excuses not to say this. "You heard the news?"

Bruce stiffened. "News?"

"Yeah, I thought it might have come to me first." The taint felt uncomfortably strong in his blood. "There was a surge in the taint a little further up the Spiral. Seems we're not the only ones with a traitor problem." He met Bruce's eyes. "Bludhaven's fallen."

* * *

The Red Court when the Bat had been spotted coming in was half-dead - a caricature of life kept up by his enforcers.

The Red Court when he _hadn't_ been spotted, or, like now, when he wasn't there at all, was a whole different beast.

The throne, such as it was, was set on a raised dais above the room. From it, he could see the Court as it really was: bustling like a marketplace. Shawls laid out with wares that could be hastily gathered up and fled with instead of booths, but a marketplace just the same, and one that sold everything from magic to the basic necessities that those too corrupted by the taint couldn't venture outside to get.

The Court itself was a riotous mess of people, from those deformed by their parents' corruption by the taint and who barely looked human to those battling it as fiercely as he was to those who weren't touched by it at all.

From his perch, he could spot Colin, a street kid who'd been snatched up as a sacrifice to the taint by one of Gotham's rogue monsters, and who'd come out of it with the ability to turn into a monstrous mass of a man. He was in his larger form now, and Jason didn't blame him. It was easier to barter when you looked like that.

Sasha was doing her job as one of his lieutenants by watching from the edges. Her doll-like mask was perfectly expressionless, but Jason was pretty sure from her posture that she was getting fed-up. The crowd had been rowdy tonight.

And somewhere out there in that mess was the as of yet untainted Roy Harper. Oh, excuse him - _Arsenal_ , the kid he was pretending to think wasn't the runaway heir to Star City. He wasn't sure if the way Arsenal got twitchy around the drugs at the edges of the market was because he was a runaway, or if he was a runaway because of the drugs, but he didn't really care. He had an eye on him in the hopes of making him a lieutenant, same as he did on Colin, once he got a little older.

After all, those two and Sasha were some of the sanest people in this place.

Which was depressing, come to think of it.

 _Give in. It is only the resistance that hurts. Let the blood flow sweet and strong and you will no longer feel this sadness -_

Yeah, no. Jason wrenched his mind away before his thoughts could spiral too far out of control.

He'd killed today. The guy had deserved it, but as much as he needed the blood, it always made the taint worse for a while.

He could handle it. Everything was fine. Really.

A figure in a purple cloak was pushing their way through the crowd. A girl, he was pretty sure.

And she was heading straight for him.

This could be interesting.

She stopped just out of reach of his guards. Her hands were clenched into fists, but that didn't stop them from shaking.

"Red King."

"That's me," he agreed. She wasn't here to challenge him, was she?

"How do you fight the taint?"

That . . . was not what he was expecting. Especially since he couldn't feel it anywhere on her. "And why do you need to know?"

She took a deep breath. "I think - I think it's taken my father."

The fact that she was here for him instead of him coming himself wasn't a good sign, but maybe something could still be done.

She'd come to him in public, though, and that meant he had a reputation to maintain.

He stood. "Well, that _is_ a topic I'm rather familiar with. But if I'm going to be helping you, then lets sit down and talk price."

* * *

As Jason saw it, he ended up with a pretty good deal. For the low price of helping a low level problem to Gotham keep from becoming a high level one, he got his very own Robin. Or Red Robin, as the case might be.

Stephanie picked up her new scarlet cloak dubiously. "Do you guys tack 'red' in front of everything?"

Jason considered that for a moment. "Pretty much, yeah."

 _"Why?_

"Mainly because it's not green." He flicked the fabric at her impatiently. "Go on. Try it on."

"Because wandering around in a bright red cloak is a _great_ idea at night," she grumbled, but she did as she was told.

Jason glanced around the dead end alleyway they'd ducked into dismissively. "You'll be fine."

"Sure." She adjusted the hood. "So all I have to do is help you with the kid magic stuff?" she checked.

"Until you're too old to do it anymore, or your dad falls completely to the taint, whichever comes first," he told her cheerfully. This was a great idea. The Hatter was about due for another breakout, and having someone around he could trust to cast the protection spells for the kids he needed to protect - and who could actually stay behind those spells - would be a huge asset.

Stephanie's face settled into something more determined. "Red Robin it is, then." She paused. "Um. I'm not going to get beat up by the actual Robin for calling myself that, am I? Or the Bat? Please tell me you didn't pick the name to tick the Bat"

"I never do things just to tick the Bat off! Very often. Anymore." Jason grinned at her. A bit too wide and a bit too dangerous, maybe, but it felt good. "And if you're that worried about it, I'll throw in a few fighting lessons for free."

She'd need them in this city, even if she didn't have to worry about the birds or the Bat.

If anyone was getting beat up over this, it wasn't going to be her.

* * *

He'd tried his best. He really had. And if Stephanie had been the one taken by the taint, he had no doubt he could have done it. But her dad . . .

Well, he'd known this was coming for a while despite how hard he'd tried to stop it. Arthur Brown had fully embraced the title of Cluemaster now, though, and the Bat had been forced to throw him through a rift into the taint and bind him there.

He'd probably break through eventually. When he did, though, anything left of Stephanie's father would be gone.

"You alright?" Roy asked warily.

"Fine." He took a deep breath.

He had failed his Robin.

He didn't head back to the Court. Instead, he stalked through the mist laden streets of Gotham. He needed - something. A minute to breathe. A minute to be alone.

To find Stephanie.

Roy was probably still shadowing him, but he was smart enough to stay back and give Jason some space. Jason appreciated that.

Especially when he finally found Steph, perched on top of a crumbling tenement and looking across the street to her family's own tiny set of rooms. Her mom would be the only one in there now.

Jason crouched down beside her and gave her something he didn't hand out often: an apology. "I'm sorry."

She scrubbed a hand under her eyes. It came back wet. "It's not _your_ fault." Her voice was choked, but he wasn't sure if it was with tears or fury. "He should have been stronger. He should have tried harder."

Jason thought of his mother slipping away not to the taint, but to the drugs she used to keep the pain from her illness at bay. Thought of the thrumming _need_ pulsing under his skin every day.

"Maybe." That was all he dared say on that one. "Maybe he did the best he could."

Her hand gripped the side of the roof so hard that he thought part of the shingle she was clutching might break off. "His best wasn't good enough, then."

That was harder to argue with.

She took a deep breath. "I should go. I need to - need to tell my mom . . . " She pushed herself to her feet.

Jason followed suit. His own throat felt a bit thick now. He was going to miss this kid. "Okay." He held a hand out.

She threw herself at him and clung to him for just a moment in a tight, crushing hug.

After the split second it took him to realize he wasn't being attacked, he awkwardly returned it. That had not been what he was expecting. When she let go, he cleared his throat and clarified what the outstretched hand had been for. "The cloak?"

She glanced down at the material, currently swirling in one of Gotham's fickle winds. "I'll take it off before my mom sees it, don't worry. I'm not _that_ out of it."

He was starting to feel really awkward now, and you know what? It was just a cloak. It wasn't like he had a replacement lined up anyway. She could keep it. "You were a good Robin," he told her. He dropped the 'red,' just this once. She would have been a good Robin for anyone, not just the Court. "I'll miss working with you."

Her jaw dropped. "You're firing me? _Now?_ After the night I've just had, you're doing this _now?"_

He blinked at her _. "Firing_ you? I'm keeping to the terms of our deal! If your dad lost himself to the taint, you didn't have to work for me anymore. That's it. You don't owe me anything else."

" . . . Oh. Right." She shifted uncomfortably. "What if, theoretically, I wasn't quite ready to give being Red Robin up?"

He . . . had not anticipated that.

He probably should have, though. Their little flock of vigilantes had adopted her as one of their own, and maybe - Well, maybe their friendship wasn't quite one-sided after all.

She was getting a bit old to be Robin, admittedly, but they still had about a year. After that, well, she wouldn't be the first to get a new name.

"In that case, little Red, I think we can strike a new deal."

* * *

The night had been a quiet one, aside from the slight drizzle of rain, right up until Tim had heard a child crying out in the street below.

He was supposed to be catching up to where Nightwing and the Bat were examining what was probably a crime totally unrelated to the taint, but he could hardly ignore this. He swung down into the alley.

There was no sign of a threat. Just a small figure huddled under a dark blanket and rocking back and forth for comfort.

Probably a street kid in need of some help. But Tim hadn't survived this long without a healthy level of suspicion, so he paced a wide half circle around the figure, murmuring, "Protegit ille qui paulo," as he did so. _Shield the little one._

There wasn't much force behind the magic. Even Tim's innate child's magic had always been weak, and growing up wasn't helping with that anyway. He relied on careful preparation and cleverly combined intricate layers of spells instead of the blunt or blinding force that Jason and Dick had used. This wouldn't do much more than keep the rain off for a few minutes.

But if there really was a child under there, then even that would be helpful. And if there wasn't, then this wouldn't work at all, and he would know to be wary.

The shield shimmered and held. Raindrops bounced off the shuddering dome. The kid shivered and looked up to see if the rain had stopped.

Tim relaxed and slid under the dome himself. He could only just stand up in it, and the shield was reluctant to let him through, but he managed it.

He still had a little while longer.

"Hi," he told the kid, dropping into a crouch beside him. "I'm Robin. Who are you?"

The kid stopped looking at the shield and turned a bit so he could better see Tim. The moon was bright enough that Tim could get a pretty good look at the kid in turn - a boy, he could see now. One with dark hair and a face that was almost familiar.

The boy's face was wet, though, and Tim didn't think it was just from the rain. He could figure out the familiarity later. "Are you okay?" he asked, scooting a little closer.

The kid sniffled and threw himself at Tim.

Tim's first instinct was to tense in preparation for a fight, but it was tamped down almost immediately. His arms were already coming up to embrace the kid when he felt the sudden pressure in his side.

Five years ago, he would have said it felt like getting punched.

Now he had enough experience not to be surprised when the knife was yanked out and he felt the blood.

The boy tried to bring the knife down again, but Tim pushed him off and rolled out of the way. He tried to push himself up, but the pain had hit now, and the blood was rushing out far too fast.

"I am the true heir," the boy snarled before springing again.

Tim grappled with him on the cold alley stones. "B!" The shrill scream of sound wouldn't carry as far as he liked, but if Bruce was already on his way back - if he wondered what was taking Tim so long -

He got in a good hit to the boy's face, but the blood loss was getting to him, and the knife slammed down again.

He didn't try to hold back the scream this time. _Come on, Bruce, come on -_

Two shadows burst down from the rooftops above them, and Tim sagged in relief.

Bruce had already knocked the boy away and had slammed into a wall before Tim could blink. "What have you done?" he growled.

Dick stayed by Tim, putting pressure on the wound. Tim bit back a cry at the increased pain. They were there now. Screaming wouldn't do anything but bring them unwelcome company.

"You're okay, baby bird. You're okay. You're going to be fine."

Since he said all that with a definite note of panic in his voice, Tim didn't feel as reassured by that as Dick probably hoped.

But there was no need to hurt Dick's feelings by telling him that, and everything was getting kind of fuzzy anyway.

* * *

He woke up in his own bed with bandages wrapped around his waist and the cobweb feel of a healing spell that must have been done by one of the young apprentices the healers had a constant stream of for just that purpose.

Judging by the pale stream of sunlight coming through the window, it was morning. Judging by how he felt, it was not morning of the same day.

A flicker of movement at the edge of his vision caught his eye, and he turned his head without raising it from the pillow.

Bruce was sitting in a chair by the bed. He was using Tim's bedside table as a desk to work through his usual tower of paperwork.

"Bruce," he croaked out. "What are you doing here?" Bruce had work to do. Surely he didn't have time to waste here.

Bruce looked up from the paperwork instantly. "You're awake." He was at Tim's side in an instant. "The healer said you'd need to drink something."

Tim grimaced at the thought of trying to sit up, but Bruce was already helping sit as gently as possible. He arranged the pillows behind him to keep him propped up before handing him a cup of water from the pitcher beside his papers.

"Thank you," Tim rasped before gulping the water down. "What happened?"

Bruce looked grim. "Do you remember getting injured?"

Tim looked down at his much abused stomach. "Courtesy of the tiny assassin? Yeah." A thought occurred to him and he groaned. "I almost died thanks to a _kid_. Jason is never going to let me live this down."

Bruce's face had gone the kind of blank that meant he felt _something,_ but whatever it was, he didn't care to show it. "The official story is that an assassin broke into your rooms and attacked you before making their escape. I found you when I went to inform you of something that couldn't wait until morning. The guards are being punished for their oversight."

"Not exactly fair to the guards," Tim pointed out.

"You sneak past them every night. Twice. They need a reminder to be more vigilant."

. . . Bruce might have a point. Despite the fact that it would make Tim's job harder.

"You slept all yesterday and through the night again. During that time, an assassin actually did try to break into your room to finish the job. The guards caught that one, but he died before he could be interrogated. We've been taking turns watching you, so that you're not unguarded."

Because the actual guards didn't count, apparently. "When you say we . . . "

"Dick, Barbara, Stephanie, Jason, and myself."

Barbara and Stephanie would have had to take a shift together for propriety's sake. They could have explained Stephanie as Barbara's maid. Jason, presumably, had been at night. Dick, being in the guard, shouldn't actually have had that much free time, but, well. Bruce.

It would still have been a ridiculously complicated mess, but they had done it anyway. Tim grinned at him. "Thanks." That covered just about everything. Except, of course, "What about the tiny assassin?"

Bruce shifted uncomfortably.

"He said he was the true heir," Tim said slowly. And in hindsight, he had looked kind of like Bruce. "So you _do_ have an illegitimate kid running around."

"We tested with blood wards. To be sure." Bruce looked down at his hands. "I didn't know."

Tim ran through the facts in his mind. The kid's darker skin, the assassin that had come after him, the training, the limited list of candidates . . . "Talia's?"

Bruce's mouth twisted. It wasn't a happy expression. "Yes." He hesitated. "His name's Damian."

"So what's the plan?" Tim asked cautiously. There were a lot of ways things could go from here.

"He tried to kill you."

"He did," Tim agreed. "Which doesn't bode well for a future brotherly relationship. On the other hand, he looked about nine, so I'm thinking the stabbiness might have been at least partially someone else's fault."

Bruce's lips twitched. An accomplishment with the mood he was in. "Stabbiness."

"Yes," Tim said firmly. "Which is not to say I don't want to beat him up in a sparring match once this heals up." Which should take about a week, thanks to the spell work. "But I won't run off to join the Red Court if he's the next Robin."

Bruce looked up sharply. "Next Robin?" Then, "The Red Court?"

Tim tried to wave a hand dismissively. It flopped back pretty quick. "I've got a standing invitation from Jason. He's really warmed up to me. And we both know you'd have been looking for a new Robin soon, anyway. I've only got about a year's worth of use left in me for that job. I can finish it out, and then he can step in."

* * *

Bruce winced at that description. He'd hated the terminology since the first time Tim used it. The phrase made it seem like Tim was a commodity to be used up and then thrown away.

 _"I'm thirteen, so you can get five years' use out of me before you have to find another Robin - "_

It bothered him to think that five years hadn't changed Tim's mind.

He . . . hadn't thought of making Damian Robin. He should have, but with everything else rattling around in his brain, it hadn't settled.

Tim was watching him, and Bruce had the sudden feeling that he'd failed some test.

"If you'd rather he be Robin now . . . "

"No," Bruce said firmly. "He's my son," and he was still trying to wrap his head around that wonderful, terrifying news, "but I don't know him yet." He didn't trust him yet. "I'm not going to take Robin away from you, Tim."

Tim relaxed a little, but he was still watchful. "Once you do know him," he said carefully. "I know it would be better for you to have a blood heir."

"You've been legally declared as my heir. That's done."

Tim shook the words off like they were annoying flies. "You didn't have all the facts you do now when you made that decision, but I know that does make it harder to take back. If you decide it would be better the other way . . . Like I said. Jason gave me an open invitation. I can step down. He's your son. I'd understand."

And that, that was the one thing no one had ever seemed to understand. Not the gossiping courtiers, not the heads of other cities, and not, he feared, the boys themselves.

In public, he couldn't afford to show emotion. But there was no one there but the two of them now.

He took Tim's hand and squeezed it. "Tim," he said. "You're all my sons."

* * *

Damian was quite sure he could break out of the room they had put him in. Whoever had made the decision to put him here had tried to compromise between security and comfort, and as a natural consequence had failed at both.

But he had already demonstrated his skill to his father by breaking into his city. Now was the time to demonstrate his obedience.

This had been easier to convince himself of a few hours ago when he had not been staring at the walls for quite such a length of time.

He had overheard the guards talking. It appeared the Drake heir had lived. He was grudgingly pleased by this. He had meant to take out his half-brother, but he had meant to do so secretly. It had quickly become apparent just how displeased his father would have been had the older boy died, so Damian was at least spared that degree of wrath.

But that meant there was still someone between him and the throne.

And, more importantly, it meant that he had failed. He doubted his father would be any more tolerant of failure than his mother had been.

The scars from his training burned at the reminder.

No. He was Damian al Ghul, heir to two cities. He did not fear pain.

The door opened. His father swept in, his presence as commanding as ever. Damian leapt to his feet and bowed, as was proper. "Father."

His father's face was a blank mask, as suited a ruler. If Damian didn't know better, however, he would have thought that the expression behind it was pained.

Damian preferred not to think why his father might be pained to see him, so he assumed he was mistaken.

"Damian." Father allowed the door to close behind him. His gaze rested on Damian with unsettling focus. "Anyone else who had done what you did would be awaiting execution right now. The only reason you are not is because of your youth, and because I know your mother is largely responsible for what happened. That does not change the fact that this cannot happen again. If the full situation was known, the city would demand a war." The personal consequences he left dangerously unstated.

"Understood." When his father just kept looking at him, Damian amended it to, "I swear on my ancestors that I will do no harm to those under your protection." He paused. "I cannot, however, speak for Mother. She was . . " Enraged. Livid. Murderous. " . . . upset when she learned that you had sired another son."

"Is that why she finally informed me of your existence?" Father's jaw was tight.

Damian could only guess at his mother's motives. "Perhaps. I did not ask."

"She should have told me from the beginning." Father took a deep breath to calm himself. "Damian, things are . . . complicated now. But I want you to know that I wish more than anything that I had known you from the start."

Damian himself did not know all the details of why he had been kept secret from his father instead of used to pressure him into an advantageous marriage with his mother, but it was . . . gratifying . . . to know he had been wanted.

But he also knew enough to know that feelings and actions were two entirely different things for those in his father's position. "Will you acknowledge me as your son?"

"That's the complication," Father said. He looked suddenly weary. "If I do, people will wonder why I haven't yet done so for Tim. Currently, that's not a matter I want to deal with."

If, after all, Drake was not Jack Drake's blood heir, it would start a divisive debate about who was, and the results, from Damian's studies of the matter, would not necessarily be favorable to his father's goals. In addition, a son out of wedlock was one thing; a son out of wedlock with the wife of one of your nobles was another matter entirely. His father could afford the ambiguity raised by simply declaring Drake his heir, but throwing another son into the mix would complicate matters.

"On the other hand, you're Ra's heir, however little that matters in terms of succession."

Damian stiffened, but he couldn't technically argue with this. His grandfather, as one of the most successful resisters of the taint, had been fighting its presence in his body for a millennia now, and showed no signs of stopping soon.

"If I do not acknowledge you, then sooner or later Talia will demand you be sent back. To keep you here could be considered an act of war."

Damian shrugged, shoulders tight. His presence would only bring more turmoil. The choice was obvious. "So I am to be sent back then." His throat was dry.

This had been a _very_ great failure. Mother would be furious.

Father's eyes looked . . . gentle almost. That concerned Damian more than anything else that had happened. "Damian. The healers told me what they saw when they looked you over. I'm not sending you back."

The implication stunned Damian too much to protest.

"My current plan is simply to stall. If I can maneuver the situation here until it's more in our favor, then I can safely acknowledge you as mine. Until then, we'll try to keep your mother's identity secret as well. It's easier to explain the presence of yet another ward than it is to explain why Ra's young heir is here without an entourage."

True. And, "If you present me as your ward, people will draw their own conclusions and begin to come around to the idea that you are my father on their own," Damian concluded.

Father looked wry. "That too." He placed a hand on Damian's shoulder. "I wish it was under different circumstances. But I _am_ glad to finally meet you, son. We have time to figure out the rest."

* * *

Two weeks later, there was a massive surge in the taint.

In the battle that followed, the Bat was dragged through a tear in reality into the taint.

* * *

The official story was that the prince had been seriously injured in the attack. Tim would rule as regent until he recovered.

It wasn't a story that would hold for long, but then, Dick knew, it didn't have to. Just long enough for them to figure out a way to fake a body they could bury.

That line of thinking brought up the choking nausea he'd been fighting since last night.

No body to bury because technically Bruce might not be dead yet, and that was a thought horrifying enough to make him want to scream until his lungs gave out.

So he pushed that thought aside and turned to action. They were meeting on the rooftops tonight to discuss what had to be done.

It should have been everybody, probably. Oracle, Red Robin, even Damian.

But none of the others had known Bruce like they had, so it was just the three Robins, present and former, that gathered on the roof.

Jason was sitting on a gargoyle and cleaning blood off a knife when Dick arrived. "The undercity's a mess," he said by way of greeting. "I don't know how well I'm going to be able to keep a lid on things after a surge like that." It wouldn't help that there were still rips appearing every few hours like the aftershocks of an earthquake. "And with _him_ gone . . . " Jason's mouth twisted. He didn't like admitting he still needed Bruce, Dick knew. That didn't change the fact that it was truth.

"I know," was all he said. "The guard's been seeing it too."

Tim stepped out from the shadows. "We need the Bat."

Dick flinched. "Yeah," he said softly. "But Bruce isn't here."

Tim slashed a hand through the air, dismissing the point. His mouth was set in a grim line. "Not Bruce. Well - Yes, Bruce. But I meant the _Bat_." His eyes were locked on Dick. "He had a spare suit."

Jason slowly turned to look at Dick as well.

Dick's mouth was suddenly dry. "Why are you looking at me? I'm not the heir over here!"

"You would have been," Tim pointed out ruthlessly. "If there had been any way to make it work, you would have been. But out here, no one cares about who your parents were. No one knows. Besides," he said, gesturing to his own short stature, "you've got a much better chance at passing as him."

"If we're doing this based on physique, then it should be him," he said, nodding to Jason.

Jason held up his arms defensively, a move that might have looked better if he wasn't still holding the knife. "Hey, I've got obligations as the Red King. Plus, you know. The whole taint thing."

"Half the populace probably assumes we're tainted anyway. Does it _matter?"_

Jason's eyes were suddenly glowing with the shifting, maddening green of the taint. He'd stopped moving as only he could, with a sudden onset of still _wrongness_ more unsettling than any movement.

Then he laughed. High, and long, and in a manner that made the hairs on the back of Dick's neck stand up, and that reminded him far too much of the sound he'd heard echoing through the streets as he and Bruce had closed in on a tainted man with a crowbar.

"Does it _matter?_ " Jason wheezed. "Oh, that's a good one, Golden Boy." The laughter finally stopped, and suddenly it was just Jason again. "Yeah," he said flatly. "It matters."

The Bat was an intimidating legacy to step into.

But it was Bruce's, and maybe - Maybe it would be good. To inherit a part of his legacy.

"Okay," he finally said. "Okay. I'm the Bat. But what about Nightwing?" They'd tried so hard to make the personas immortal. It rubbed him wrong to just let Nightwing die.

"I've almost aged out of Robin," Tim pointed out. "I was wondering if - Maybe - Or I can just make up another name. It's not a big deal - "

It took Dick a second, but when he caught on, he was relieved. "That's a great idea. You should absolutely take Nightwing."

"Thanks," Tim said. He wasn't quite smiling, but it was the closest any of them could come so close to losing Bruce. "And then Damian can take Robin," Tim added like this was the natural conclusion.

"We're letting the baby assassin do what now?" Jason said incredulously.

"He's not a baby assassin," Dick said automatically. He'd been having this fight with Jason for two weeks now, but it was important not to call Damian that. They had to make sure he knew they thought he could change. "But - Robin, are you sure?"

"We need a kid," Tim pointed out, "and Damian's already trained. Besides." His mouth twisted. "I'm not sure if his promise holds under the present circumstances. I'd like to know what he spends his nights doing."

It was hard to argue with that.

"You sure our new Bat will be able to trust him as backup?" Jason asked, still wary.

That was one concern Dick didn't have. "He's got nothing to gain by getting rid of me. And I think he's warming up to me."

Jason snorted. Tim just rolled onward.

"So you'll train him?"

Dick stopped to consider it for a moment just to be sure, but - "Yeah. Something to focus on will be - good."

"Good," Tim said. "So that just leaves the question of how we're going to get Bruce back."

If Dick had been drinking something, he would have choked. "What?"

"Robin - " Jason started.

"He's not dead," Tim said firmly. "We know he's not dead. We have to get him out."

 _"How?"_ Dick demanded. "And even if we could get him out, what are the chances he wouldn't be tainted?"

"You had better not have meant that the way it sounded like you meant that," Jason said mildly.

Dick took a deep breath and corrected himself. "If he could fight it, that would be one thing. But if he's well and truly fallen to it - "

"Then that would be terrifying, and we would all die," Jason conceded. "And by 'we,' I mean the city. And possibly the whole Spiral."

"He was wearing protections agains the taint when he went in," Tim argued. "Even once those fail, everyone says it's mostly a matter of willpower. If anyone could do it, he could."

 _"If._ And that still doesn't explain how we're going to get him out."

"We'll figure it out," Tim said stubbornly.

Dick looked helplessly at Jason.

Jason sighed. "We'll try. Now go get some sleep, baby bird. You've got a big day as regent tomorrow."

Tim nodded in what could have been agreement and disappeared back into the night.

Jason stared after him. "Ten gold coins says that he stays up till dawn doing research on how to get the big guy back."

"No bet," Dick said glumly. He eyed Jason. "You've got more experience than the rest of us. What do you think are the odds . . . "

"That we can really get Bruce back?" Jason twirled his knife absently. "You can only hold out so long, you know. After a certain point, you either bend or you die."

"And he doesn't bend."

"No," he agreed. "He doesn't. Of course, I'm pretty sure that's what you used to say about me."

"So?" Dick pressed. "Your honest opinion?"

"My honest opinion is that I think the taint's going to take us all in the end. Devour this whole rotting Spiral." Jason stared blankly into the night. His eyes were glowing slightly.

Then he shook himself and shrugged. "But I doubt that'll happen until the old man stops kicking. I'm not saying we can. But - Maybe. And for him . . . "

Dick finished the thought. "For him, we've got to try."

* * *

This, Damian thought furiously, this was what came of Grayson's stupid insistence that he and the sleep deprived Drake remain behind as the new Bat and the Red King battled the serpents that were winding their way through the air.

He tightened his grip on the gargoyle despite his screaming muscles.

Because trouble had found them anyway, of course, and now his trembling grip was the only thing between Drake and a plummeting death.

At least the snake responsible was dead. Now he just needed to pull them back up to safety.

Any moment now, he would. When he had gathered his strength.

"Robin." Drake's voice held a bit more tension than he was probably aiming for. "My grappling hook wasn't secured at the time of the fall. It's gone. I can't swing us anywhere."

"Fine," Damian - not gasped. He didn't gasp.

He could practically hear the gears in Tim's mind turning like he was one of the new pieces of clockwork that he had seen displayed.

"You can't hold us."

"I can." He was not weak, whatever Drake was implying.

"Can your magic do anything?"

"It _is_ ," he gritted out. Under his mother's tutelage, his magic had turned inward, strengthening his bones, speeding his healing, granting unnatural strength to his muscles. Unlike most magic, this would linger long after he was no longer a child. He could still call it forth, to a limited extent, but to do so in a meaningful way, he would have to draw blood and use the blood in runes.

He could not do so from this position.

His hands were sweating. His fingers clawed frantically at the gargoyle's horn to keep from slipping.

"Alright." Drake took a deep breath. "Maybe I've got enough left to bounce." One hand let go of Damian's. The other tried to slide free.

"Drake!" Damian tightened his grip. "Drake, what are you doing?"

"You can't hold us both. You have to let go."

"No. I am strong enough for this."

"I might survive the drop." Drake had still not resecured his hold. "If I do, fine. If not, you'll get what you always wanted. Let go."

"I made an oath," Damian hissed. And that oath, combined with the blood spilled in battle together these past weeks, confirmed what was owed between them. "I am no oathbreaker, nor kinslayer." Previous attempt notwithstanding. His oaths to his mother had come before any other tie of honor then. Now - Now all he knew was that he refused to let go.

He slid a few inches further down. Only a frantic grab at one of statue's fangs saved them.

"We're not kin," Drake said. "Your father allowed the rumor because it made things easier, but we're _not kin."_

Damian didn't know if his father had lied to him or to Drake, or whether one of them had just made the wrong assumptions - or, for that matter, if Drake was lying to him now - but that didn't matter. "That's not what the Bat says." Grayson insisted they were all family. The others were all brothers in arms at the very least. Damian had started to earn his own status thus.

Drake took a deep breath. "Thanks," he said quietly.

Then he jabbed his free hand in a strike at Damian's wrist that forced his unwilling hand to let go.

"DRAKE!"

Something came swinging through the mists and snatched up the falling figure.

Grayson.

"Come on, kid," a strained voice said from above. The Red King grabbed his wrist and started pulling him up. "That looked exciting."

Damian stood up on the safety of the roof. "I'm going to kill him," he said flatly. "Slowly. Did he know you were there?"

Shouting broke out on the street below. Todd cocked his head towards it. "Judging from that lovely noise, I'd say older brother has determined that answer to be 'no.'" He let out a long breath. "That was some risk you took, holding on that long." His voice was noncommittal.

Damian sniffed. "Tt. I could have handled longer. Besides. Drake is the only one making progress on bringing Father home."

"Kid . . . It's been a month."

Todd was giving him a pitying look. These days, Drake was the only one who did not.

Damian growled at him. "Father _will_ come home."

* * *

Two weeks later, they were standing around a rift they had opened on _purpose,_ and Jason was about ninety-five percent sure this was a bad idea.

But -

Well. They owed the old man this.

Tim and Barbara's research had finally paid off. Damian's blood runes had drawn them to the spot they needed to open the portal.

And Jason's connection to the taint had done the rest.

They were all here for this, Oracle and Stephanie, now known as the Red Knight, included.

Partially because they all wanted to see Bruce again.

Partially in case this all went terribly wrong.

But the portal was open, so it was a bit late for that now, and - There. Tumbling through the grasping green, falling broken onto the street. There.

The rift slammed shut.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dick grab Damian's arm to keep him from running forward.

Good. This bit, this first test, was Jason's job.

Partially because he'd have the easiest time determining whether or not Bruce had fallen to the taint.

Partially because he was probably the only one who could do what had to be done if he had.

The sense of the taint was too strong for him to tell if Bruce was infected with the rift still this fresh, so he walked forward and crouched next to -

 _Bruce, Prince, Bat, DAD -_

the figure. He rolled him over as gently as he could so he could see the face.

Blue eyes blinked up at him.

Not green all the way through the whites like the Joker's. Not green irises like Jason had now.

Just blue.

And not a trace of taint in him.

You had to bend or die. That was true for everyone, even Bruce.

But apparently, in all the weeks he'd been in there, Bruce hadn't hit his breaking point.

"Well?" Stephanie asked. Jason was pretty sure she was the only one of the others who currently trusted themselves to talk.

"You stubborn idiot," Jason whispered. He had to swallow down a lump in his throat.

"Jay?" Bruce asked. His voice was hoarse almost past recognition. A battered hand tried to reach for him but collapsed back to the ground.

"Right here," Jason promised. He swallowed again and called out. "He's clean."

They wouldn't take his word for it, of course. He was tainted himself. They'd test it a half dozen times. But for now, that was good enough.

The others were there in an instant. Jason moved back a little so that someone a little better qualified could provide actual medical care.

Stephanie sidled closer to him. "What's the story with the two of you anyway?"

Oh. That was right. Stephanie had worked with all of them over the past couple of years, but Jason had always kept her a little separate from any clues about his old identity. It was better for his reputation that way.

"Not that it's any of my business," she added hastily. "You just - seemed to care. A lot. And I'm just going to shut up now."

"He's - " Jason struggled to find words that wouldn't give away more than he liked. "He's the Bat," he finally said. "Whole city'd fall without him."

"Riiight. Sure."

She was wise enough not to comment about the look on Jason's face when they got confirmation a couple of hours later that Bruce would pull through.

* * *

"Damian."

Father's hand rose from his bed to rest on Damian's arm. Damian settled on his perch there more securely.

"I was pleased to hear the healer's report that you should be able to resume some of your duties soon. Drake and Grayson have managed things well enough, but the city needs you."

Father smiled. Damian was pleased with himself. Father's smiles had been rare since his return. "And you?"

Damian was too well trained to fidget uncomfortably at the question. "I believe my performance has been adequate." Certainly it had been in his lessons. He was less sure how Father would judge his performance in court.

Or how he would feel about Robin. Father, after all, had not chosen him for the role.

"You didn't let go."

So Father had heard about that.

"I acknowledge the decision was perhaps tactically unsound - "

Father squeezed his arm. "That wasn't a criticism. I - I'm very proud of you, Damian."

Oh.

"Then - Then I shall continue as your Robin?"

Father's expression turned wry. "When I can walk for more than a minute at a time, yes."

* * *

("Would you rather spend two years dead or six weeks trapped in the taint?"

"Fortunately, I'll never have to choose."

"You might," Stephanie said, flipping off the gargoyle. "It's happened to two of us before."

Duke stared at her for a long moment in the hopes that she might start laughing and reveal it as a joke. "You people are crazy."

"And yet you're here. With me. In a cape."

It was hard to argue with that.)

* * *

 **A/N:** **Latin thanks to Google Translate.**

 **Notes on my decisions here:**

 **I decided that in a world like this, Bruce's 'no killing' rule was both impractical and less likely to have developed. As prince of the city, he would have to be either directly or indirectly responsible for deaths. Avoiding it in the batsuit seemed like a good compromise.**

 **The boys' relationships with each other are better largely because Robin comes with a clear expiration date. Dick's decision to hand it over set a precedent for Jason. By the time Jason comes back to Gotham, he's at least seventeen and possibly a bit older. That Bruce got a new Robin isn't a surprise to him, because here Robin is a necessary role. Of course Robin was filled; he'd be surprised to hear that it wasn't filled within the week. The fact that Bruce hadn't adopted the new Robin yet also helped with replacement issues. What Jason WAS a little mad about was the idea that it was some other "expendable" kid; the discovery it was the heir to a noble house pretty much ruined that line of thinking, so Jason has fewer issues.**

 **He also has fewer issues regarding the Joker, because he knows Bruce, as the prince, will kill, and he knows there have been attempts to kill a captured Joker before that didn't work. That the Joker is still alive when he returns isn't something that surprises him or gives him any reason to think Bruce didn't try. And now that he's back and is life force is tied to vengeance, he doesn't WANT Bruce to try, so there's another issue down.**

 **Which just leaves Damian.**

 **In this universe, he's got a much clearer view of his and his brother's roles and what their absence will and will not gain him. There are also much clearer potential consequences for his little stunt with Tim. They're then forced together for extended periods, since no one can just go running off globetrotting in this universe, and, most importantly, Tim and Damian are the ones who believe the most that they can get Bruce back. As such, they get closer than they would otherwise.**

 **Or that's my reasoning.**


End file.
